Footsteps
by Lilyrose55
Summary: Footsteps. They make her skin prickle. EO. Rated MA.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**This story too was published on my favorite site SVUFiction, which sadly died about a year ago. It takes place in S13. Hope you enjoy. Hope you let me know :) Thanks to _PushTheButton_ for the avi!

**Chapter 1:**

Footsteps. She hears them, she dreams them, she feels them. Footsteps that follow her, taunt her, frighten her. Footsteps that once meant relief, that once meant safety and belonging. They come and go and it's been weeks that she's been hearing them. She used to dream them a while back, even when she was awake, but they never materialized into anything so the dreams stopped by themselves after a while, when her tears dried out.

She looks behind her shoulder but there's nothing there, just an empty, dark street with few passersby, so she continues on her way home.

"I'd rather walk," she said when he offered her a ride, when he implied that he wanted to come by her apartment again.

"What happened? You got cold feet?" he asked. "You know it's for real? Is that why you try to hide now?"

"No, I just…I have a long day tomorrow and I need to get home and I feel like some fresh air," she lied.

"Ok," he said and kissed her softly on her mouth. He was offended and she felt bad, because they have a good thing going. She really couldn't have asked for something better than that.

Only it's not. Because when she faces the truth, when she really allows herself to think and feel, she knows that it's not enough, that it's not it, that it's not what she spent years wanting and sometimes needing. These are not the eyes that she spent years bringing her own eyes to and reading so plainly what they said to her, this is not the smell that's embedded in her memory and in her every pore, this is not the face and the form she spent years wrongfully feeling would always be there.

And there are the footsteps, the footsteps she can sense, if not really hear. She began noticing them again shortly after she started seeing David. They weren't always present, only sometimes, and it made her self-conscious. Maybe she should have called a cab, because now she's cold despite the warm night air, now there's this chill that spreads through her veins and makes her entire body shiver, now she hears the footsteps again. The footsteps that once meant him.

Olivia looks back again, but the street is still rather empty and it's probably only her imagination that's playing with her. Maybe she should have taken her gun with her after all.

Her building is in sight and she hurries, rearranges her hair in the clip as she walks, so it won't block her view, and her own footsteps resound in the quiet street. Her hand is shaky when she reaches into her bag for the keys and she scorns herself for reacting like she was some random woman with someone following her. First of all, because no one is following her, and second of all, she'd have anyone on the ground in two seconds even if there was.

The lobby door closes behind her and she takes the stairs, because the footsteps are still there and the chill in her spine becomes warmer and it makes her stomach tremble and her knees weak. It makes her head buzz. On the third floor landing the light is scarce, one bulb is out and she slows down a bit because her breath has gotten shallow and she wants to take a deep breath, to inhale the scent that starts creeping in on her. She wants to make sure she's not wrong.

Her hand is on the railing and her lungs are filled with what reassures her heart that she wasn't wrong, and her mind realizes what the rest of her body has already come to recognize.

She can hear the soft breaths, when the footsteps slow down half a staircase away. Olivia continues the climb and her heart thumps in her chest and her blood slams in her veins and the noise is deafening, but she can still hear the footsteps.

The fourth floor landing is behind her and she enters through the door into the corridor and her pace is slow because her eyes are blurry and her throat is clogged. The light is scarce here too because it's late and the building owner sometimes leaves only one lamp on in each floor after midnight, and it's at the far end, away from her own door.

She stops short at her doorstep, and her fingers slightly tremble when they try to make the apartment key out of the rest. Her head is bowed and she tries to concentrate on the right key, but she can't because the footsteps have gotten so close that she could practically hear the rustle of movement when they stop behind her, and the saliva clicks in her throat when she feels the warm breathing at her back.

The noise of blood in her ears becomes so loud that she can't hear her own breaths, but she knows that they are shallow and fast and perhaps loud. Her whole body is frozen, only her fingers are fidgeting with the keys, and she can't hear the jingle. Her eyes draw shut when a featherlike touch brushes her arm.

The fidgeting stops and with her eyes closed she raises her head just a bit, but she stops in her tracks when the soft breaths hit her nape.

"Here, let me." She feels the words huffed against her skin and the rasp in the half whisper raises warm gooseflesh that starts at the tiny hairs at her nape and washes down her body.

She can't speak, she only manages to slightly shake her head.

The touch on her arm becomes a tangible stroke that rides up from her elbow to her shoulder and down again. Her closed eyes tighten and she bites her lower lip.

"Liv," she hears, and her name finally sounds right after months of strange mouths pronouncing it, so right that she has to fight the urge to let her head fall back and rest against the heat she feels behind her.

She shakes her head again, just once, and the touch on her right bicep becomes a grasp and her heart jumps to her throat because his lips lightly brush her nape when he whispers her name again. She swallows and raises her bowed head and the lips are still there and now they are warm against her skin and she can feel his body closer at her back, almost touching her, the heat radiating familiarly into her.

"What do you want?" she manages to say, the words come out strangled, cracked. It's not just his lips that she feels now; tilting her head up made his nose and forehead make contact with the back of her head and she opens her eyes and she knows his are closed. She feels him inhale her skin and hair as his other hand comes up and lands on her left shoulder. She stares at the 4E on her door, fighting the need to drop her eyes and look at the hands that touch her.

"What do you want?" she repeats, her voice a bit louder and less cracked, although it's still throaty. She wants him to answer but she knows his lips would move against her neck if he does and she's not sure her knees will stand that. She also knows that she should turn around and kick him the hell away, but she can't bring herself to move.

He's still quiet and she can feel him inching closer and his lips are still lightly touching her exposed nape and his face is grazing her hair that's held up by the clip. He inhales deeply and she knows what he's doing because she craves to do the same, she wants to bury her face in him and just breathe in the smell she's missed.

"Elliot," she rolls his name on her tongue in a half whisper and it's the first time she's pronounced it in months. She called him her partner, her former partner, she coined him 'something' or 'someone' when she referred to him to people that didn't know him, like David, but she hasn't said his name in so long, that it feels strange on her lips.

"Does he make you happy?" he speaks into her hairline and his fingers on her shoulder slowly advance to her shirt's neckline and when she breaths out again his knuckles softly skim the exposed nook between her shoulder and neck. Her eyes drift shut again.

_He's not you_, she thinks. "Yes," she says, because she's happier than she's been in months and this feels like the only thing to say that would make him go away.

He doesn't budge.

"Good," a warm, wet breath is huffed against her skin, and he's never touched her like that, never, and she has always thought that he never would, but now that he does, she's just planted there and can't bring herself to do a goddamn thing about it. She should be elbowing his crotch and sending him home doubled over, because she has no idea where and how and why he showed up and it doesn't really matter after all this time, but all she can do is just stand there and silently pray none of her neighbors would suddenly appear.

"You followed me?" she asks and she can't believe she's having a conversation with him like that.

"Sometimes, just to make sure you're ok," his voice rasps and she wants to open her eyes again but when she tries, her stomach drops a mile because she feels the kiss on her neck. She can't be mistaken, it's his lips and his tongue that she feels. She starts to turn her head because it's time to stop this but his mouth trails her neck with the movement and he lingers at the smooth skin behind her ear. The heat from his mouth and fingers washes all over her, it sends tingles down her body, she feels it in her lower belly, she feels it in the hardening of her nipples.

"You shouldn't," her voice comes out hoarse and she can't say much more but she knows he understands, he understands that he shouldn't follow her and he shouldn't be here and he shouldn't touch her like that.

"I know," he says, his lips pronounce this behind her ear, and a wet, hot, open mouthed kiss is laid on the column of her neck, and his head is dangerously close to her peripheral sight if she only opens her eyes, but she doesn't dare to. She focuses on controlling her shallow breaths and her dizziness, when another kiss trails down her neck and the keys she's held drop back into the bag and her palm comes to rest against the wooden door, to support her instead of her weakening knees.

"Then why?" she insists through the haze, and she has to swallow again because his chest makes contact with her back, and if she shifts the slightest bit, she'd be leaning against the hard, familiar solid mass behind her.

"Because I can't not do it," he mumbles and his right hand slips from her arm and grazes the side of her breast on its way to her waist, before it slides across her stomach as he holds her from behind and presses her to him. She gasps when her back is pressed flush against the solid plains of his chest and her backside connects with his pelvis.

His scent envelopes her and she breathes it in. "Elliot," she starts, her entire body is hyper alert to his.

"Let me in, Liv." He asks and commands at once and her eyes open. "Please." His voice softens and his mouth rests on her skin, and she tilts her head to the other side, as if she's adjusting her posture to fit his mouth against her neck. His left palm strokes up the side of her neck towards her cheek and she closes her eyes again.

"Elliot, please," she pleads.

He doesn't answer but his hold tightens, his left hand slides from her face to her neck and to her chest, his mouth trails the smooth flesh at the neckline of her shirt and her head lolls back by itself and rests against him. "Elliot, please," she begs, almost moans, because she can't stop him, only he can stop now.

His mouth leaves her warmth and his hand stops right above her left breast and his right hand loosens the hold on her. "Ok," he expels, "I'm sorry." And before he lets go of her completely, her eyes look down and she sees his hands on her, releasing her, and the hand that is retreating from above her left breast, from over her heart, is void of the glistening gold.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews! It means a lot. Someone asked me over PM if I'm working on a new fic, and the answer is yes. Will start posting after I finish uploading the fics from svufiction. In the meantime am working on it so you won't have to wait too long btwn chapters.

**Chapter 2:**

_'Let me in'._ The command in his voice, the missed beat of her heart, that indicated her instinctual wish to comply, the memory of his touch and her body's response, the disturbing possibility of what might have happened if she had let him in – it all haunts her as she rolls from side to side in her bed. What did he want? Why? Why now? How long? And why the hell was she weak like that? It's a whirlwind in her head and she almost regrets she hasn't agreed to David's invitation.

When his hands released her and dropped to his sides, she finally breathed. Elliot took a step back and the warmth of his body retreated with him, leaving the wet spots he marked on her skin with his mouth exposed and suddenly cold.

She turned her head towards her right shoulder, because it was all so strange that for a moment there she wasn't sure if this was real. Then, from the corners of her eyes she finally saw him, and from what she could perceive he looked like he always did. Tall, wide, Elliot. The solid constant he'd always been for her. She couldn't see his eyes though, and right before that she couldn't see his ring, and maybe she didn't dare to turn because she was afraid to face that he had changed, beyond the simple fact that he was no longer a cop, no longer her partner, no longer her friend, no longer to be found.

"Don't do that again," she instead commanded back, her voice almost normal, because there shouldn't be a place in her life to contain him now.

He didn't say a thing, he just stood there and stared at her for a few beats, and she could sense the tensed energy in what she could grasp of his features. "Good night, Olivia," he finally spoke, and he used her full name like only he could, making it sound more intimate then when others called her by the nickname he coined. He took another step back and then turned and walked out of the corridor, into the staircase, leaving his footsteps to echo in her ears.

She turns to lie on her back and it creeps on her, that he didn't promise, that he didn't consent, that his footsteps will continue to haunt her, because he's always done whatever the hell he wanted. This was one of the things that enraged her, and this was one of the things that misled her to think that he'd always be there with his stubborn, guard-dog constancy.

When Olivia finally falls asleep, the image of him, that she saw from the corners of her eyes, standing behind her, doesn't fade from under her closed lids.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

Her detective skills are sharpened even more than usual in the next few days. Her eyes are tired from being on the watch, her ears are strained from making one set of footsteps out of the masses of others, her heart is unnerved by the false alarms.

She meets with David twice for lunch and coffee in the middle of the work day, and the corners of her mouth hurt from the real and fake smiles.

"What are you looking for?" he asks her, when they're seated by the window of a deli not far from the precinct.

"Nothing. I'm just thinking about a case." She brings her eyes back to him and she smiles because his eyes spark when he looks at her and it's refreshing.

"You're on a break now, so stop thinking so much." A concerned smile is on his face and his hand reaches over the table to rest on hers.

She scorns herself for having to force her hand to remain flat and not flinch under his touch. Though they haven't been together long, this is a new reaction and it sickens her to know why.

"I have to get back soon, Amaro and I have some interviews," she adds when he intertwines his fingers with hers.

"Sure, I understand, I have to get back to the office myself." After a short pause he continues, "Liv," and her heart sinks because it sounds unnatural in her ears. She brings her eyes to him again. "Would you like to go to dinner tonight or tomorrow night?" he offers.

She hesitates for a moment before she answers. "Yes, sure, I'd be happy to. Tomorrow." And she smiles at him because he is a good man, and he likes her for her, he makes her smile and he seems to be everything that she's ever hoped for. She represses back the unnecessary red lights that flash in her heart, the unwanted footsteps that echo in her stomach, the uncalled-for burning ghosts of touch that have had a hold over her for years.

They kiss when they part and she closes her eyes and drifts into the short moment.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

She loses sight of Amaro. They split, each taking another side of the parallel streets that are divided by short, deserted alleys. She sees him in flashes, running at the other end of the alleys, but then he disappears and she thinks that he probably outran her. "Nick," she yells, her fingers tighten around her gun in the holster. "Nick," she calls again and then turns a corner into the closest alley, and with her back to the wall she unhooks her radio. "SVU Portable to Central," she controls her breaths and her voice.

"Go ahead SVU Portable", the dispatcher and the static noises penetrate the alley that till then contained only the sounds of her footsteps and her breaths and the occasional wind gusts.

"Request backup at 402 West 206th. Suspect is on the move, potentially armed, my partner's on foot chase" she gasps into the radio.

"Backup on its way," the dispatcher crackles through.

Olivia advances along the wall to the other end of the alley and when she reaches the corner of the street she's last seen Amaro in, she continues running, passes a few deserted stores and turns into the next alley, where she tries to radio Nick but he doesn't answer. She hears footsteps somewhere in her vicinity, but there's echo in the alley and it's hard to tell where it comes from. She can hear her own heartbeat and the scarce traffic from the street. She ducks behind a large container and takes her gun out, her fingers on the trigger prepare automatically.

She feels too exposed, she needs to risk it and take cover in the nearby doorstep, but as she starts moving, the footsteps become clearer and she hears the voice. "Let's see you now, without that pretty boy of yours. Come here, honey." Her blood gushes cold in her veins. He's getting closer, he's probably seen her, and the confidence in his voice tells her that he's armed. Where the hell is Nick and where the hell is backup?

His voice and his footsteps and her accelerated heartbeat are not the only things that she hears, she senses something else and when she starts moving, about to come out of her cover, aim her weapon at the ex-con, the sounds of someone walking fast and then running penetrates her awareness. _Nick. Finally_, she thinks. The large container still blocks her view but she hears. A loud metallic noise, a pound into flesh, a cry of pain, metal hitting asphalt and retreating footsteps.

"Liv!" she hears to her left and she turns to find Amaro entering the alley from the side nearest to her.

"Nick, down, he's armed," she shouts.

"He was," Nick says and his hand on her elbow drags her towards the center of the alley, where their suspect lies on the asphalt, his nose bleeding, his gun ten feet away from him.

"What the hell…?" she mumbles.

"Someone hit him from the back with this lid, but it didn't take him out. He turned around and got a nice job on his nose," Amaro looks back at her. He's crouched by the side of the man. "He's out, but not for long," he continues as he cuffs the man who starts coming to.

"I didn't see anything" and "I just heard footsteps" and "I don't know what exactly happened" is what she tells Nick and Cragen, but she's lying. She knows what happened in that alley.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

The black dress that she hasn't worn in a while fits the fancy restaurant David takes her to. She likes it that he knows how to pick the right place, that he understands the wine list and the French menu. She feels at home with beer six-packs, oily pizzas, cop bars, cheap diners and hotdog stands, but she's usually dated the types that any mother would have approved, even her own. Successful, sophisticated men that could elevate her from the dinge she wallows in daily. She rearranges the straps that stretch beneath her shoulders, creating a deep and wide v-shaped cleavage, and she avoids the sudden need to be in her sweats and feel at home.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

"And which did you like better, the ideas about sublime nature or the romantic sublime? Knowing you, I'd venture a guess," David continues their conversation about English poetry that she's lost focus on.

"The sublime nature, of course," she answers, refocusing. "I don't believe in sublime romanticism, it's a load of crap," she says and he laughs. "And how it came to be that a Law student knew so much about English literature?" she asks.

"I dated an English Lit. student, had to woo her somehow, so I read the prominent articles," David warmly smiles when he talks, and it's nice. Everything about him and about this is nice, but she knows that she should want to do more than just hug him right now.

"A night cap?" it's his turn to ask this time, when they're standing outside, and it's this awkward moment when all the possibilities are open and she has to choose the right one for herself.

"I would love to, but I can't tonight," she's the one to decline this time, and although they've already spent few nights together, she knows that it's better to decline than to sleep with him when she's not really there.

"Can't say that I'm not disappointed, I was hoping to spend more time with you," he says honestly, and she puts her hand on his arm. "But, you need time and I get that," he continues.

She smiles in appreciation because he really tries to understand and not make it harder for her.

"But I'm not letting you walk tonight, we're gonna take a cab together and I will see you to your door," he says with a mock, gallant air.

"Ok," she laughs, "but you really don't have to walk me all the way to my door."

When the cab parks at her building, David insists to at least see her into the lobby. They walk in and he kisses her as she stands on the first step. They hear laughter and speech and footsteps from a floor or two up, and she really doesn't feel like seeing any of her neighbors right now. David hardly lets go of her and she breaks their kiss and says against his lips "David, thank you for a great night. We'll talk tomorrow?"

"We will," he says in a hoarse voice and she feels like a bitch for not changing her mind, but she really can't, she really doesn't feel like this would be fair to him right now, when even his sweetness and their kiss don't ignite the right feeling in her.

"Good night, David," she half whispers.

"Good night, Liv," he says, finally letting go of her.

He stands there, watching her climb a few more steps, before he turns to walk out to the waiting cab.

The dress and the high heels take their toll on her and her ascend is slow, but at least her neighbors cleared the way and she doesn't have to politely greet anyone. She prepares the key and when she reaches the third floor landing she notices that the light there is bright again.

At her door, she inserts the key into the lock and starts turning it when she hears a few footsteps behind her, so few that it's clear to her that he's been waiting very close by and maybe he went up just now, when her neighbors did, his footsteps mixing with theirs. Her stomach drops in a familiar way but despite it and despite the familiar scent that mixes his cologne and his leather jacket and the unique masculine smell that is only him, she briefly turns her head over her shoulder just to make sure, and it is him, his face, his jeans, his leather jacket.

She swallows hard and turns back to the door, her fingers grasp the key in the lock. "I thought I told you not to come here again," she says firmly. She is not going to let him weaken her again, to make her want or need him again.

He takes two more steps and he's standing right behind her and she feels something like anger bubbling inside her, because anger can explain the way her heart thumps and her cheeks flush and the tremble in her hands. "Elliot, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but I don't like you showing up here like that." Her voice is firm and steady and when he doesn't respond she continues, kindling her own fire, "and stop following me. What you did yesterday was totally unacceptable."

"Can we talk inside?" his voice is gravelly and she knows this tone, she's heard it before, saying things like "it's over" and "leave me alone" and "stay out of it, Liv". He used this tone when he was falling apart, when he pushed her if she tried to help, and here he is now, using this tone when he is seeking her out.

"No," she says, but it comes out as a whisper, because despite everything she feels tears accumulating at the back of her throat, and when his palm touches her bare arm, she closes her eyes.

And maybe it's because she doesn't say a word now, that he allows himself to brush his hand over her bare arm again and again, breaking gooseflesh on her skin. He doesn't wait long before he steps closer and connects his solid torso with her back. He doesn't wait long to lower his head and kiss the curve between her neck and right shoulder. With this dress there is so much exposed skin, and his left hand strokes up on her left arm and over her shoulder and then down her bare back, while his lips and tongue trail the ridge of her shoulder and then back up the column of her neck. She doesn't say a word, but her breaths are audible and her head falls back to rest against him and she tilts it involuntarily to the left and he has all the access he needs, his fingers thread in her hair and push it up when he kisses her hairline.

When a moan escapes her lips, Elliot slides his hand down along her arm and turns the key in the lock and opens the door.

In two steps they are inside her dark apartment, and Elliot must have closed the door with his foot, because the only beam of light comes in through the kitchen window, and he must have shrugged off his jacket because when he presses her to him from behind with his left hand, she can feel his hard, warm body pushed against her through the thin fabric of his shirt. His right hand precedes his mouth as he kisses her collarbone, up to her neck, his face pressing into her, his breaths huffed against her, and her head bows down when his lips taunt and his tongue licks her nape, sliding down the top of her spine, then over to her exposed shoulder blade and up to the round mound of her shoulder again.

She is in a complete daze, she doesn't think, she only senses and feels and all she knows is that she wants to turn around because she wants his mouth on hers, she wants to be filled with his taste and smell. She hears his breaths and she feels them when his hardness grazes her from behind. Her own breaths reverberate, as a wave of pleasure washes all over her and centers at her lower belly and at the wet heat between her legs.

He kisses her exposed throat when her head tilts back again, his fingers stroke the skin her deep cleavage bares. She brings her right hand over to his head, pressing his mouth further into her, her nails scrape his cropped hair. His left hand rides up from her stomach to her breasts and his palm cups her right breast, his thumb swipes across her erect nipple through the dress and she moans out loud, her left hand tightening the grip on the muscular forearm that's splayed across her torso. Elliot's other hand slides down the side of her body and stops at her lower belly, pressing her tighter against him and she feels him hard behind her. His mouth trails up to her jaw and she inhales his scent as he's finally at the corner of her mouth, and if she slightly turns her head, her lips will connect with his. But he slides his mouth to her ear as his hand rubs and squeezes her breast and she pulsates with need to the sound of his groan in her ear.

They both freeze at the ringing chirp of her cellphone, coming out of the purse she must have dropped on the floor. She opens her eyes into the darkened apartment, and when she looks down she sees the phone flashing through her opened purse.

"Don't answer it," Elliot's words are exhaled into her ear.

"I have to," she says, but the words come out with a heave. Her hand falls from his head as the haze starts clearing and she tries to step out of his arms.

"Don't. Tell him you can't talk right now," he says in the gravelly voice that now has a different tone, a tone that sends pulses between her legs.

"Elliot, please leave," she manages to say despite his voice, despite his mouth, despite his touch.

"Why isn't he here?" he asks, his mouth is next to her ear, not touching her skin, and his hand is no longer pressing her to him.

"It's none of your concern," the anger is bubbling in her again, because he's exposed her again, her weakness, her responsiveness, her desire. He's used that thing that was always there between them, that they never talked about or referred to or alluded to or tried. He's using it and he's taking advantage of the weakness he's discovered in her, that maybe he has known she's had all along.

"You sure?" he asks, and she hates him. "I think it is," he breathes and she notices that he doesn't hold her anymore but her back is still connected with his chest, her hips still touch his and his erection is still pressed to her.

She takes a step forward and turns towards the door without looking at him. "Get out and don't come back," she says and her voice is still shaky, breathy.

Elliot stands next to her, slightly behind her, and when he sends his hand to the doorknob, it falls on hers, which was already there. He presses the knob down, his hand on hers, and he half whispers, leaning his head towards her, "that's not what you really want," and it's another tone that she recognizes, the cocky one that has always confused her because her reaction to it constantly changed based on who it was directed at. It could make her proud or jealous or confident, but she's always hated it when it was directed at her.

She closes her eyes to these words and to the gust of light that enters from the corridor.

"Bye, Liv," he says when he exits and she closes the door behind him and leans against it in the dark, still surrounded by the intoxicating smell of his body.

She stoops to pick up the purse from the floor and with shaky fingers she extracts the phone and checks the caller ID. She presses the 'Send' key.

"Hi, did I wake you?" she hears.

"No," she says with a hoarse voice.

"Just wanted to make sure you got all the way up alright. I'm sorry," he apologizes.

"David, I…I changed my mind. Can you come over?" she asks, her voice still not quite her own.

"Are you sure?" he starts and before she answers he continues, "I'll be there in a few," and he hangs up.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

When her naked body tangles around his, and when he penetrates her, she closes her eyes and a few tears that she didn't manage to swallow stream down to her temples and into her hair. She bites her lower lip when she comes so that she wouldn't pronounce out loud the name that keeps repeating in her head.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate all your comments :)

**Chapter 3:**

There are things that bother her and things that she has gotten over a while ago.

It bothers her to remember why she slept with David that night and who she was thinking of while she did. It bothers her to think how many times before David this has happened to her. And the cellphone. What if the cellphone hadn't rung? This bothers her because she's never known herself to be this weak, not even with him, and there she was, from the moment he appeared, losing herself more and more under his hands, under his mouth.

She looks at the desk that used to be his and she thinks about the 'why', the why he left, the why he lost contact with her – and how all this ceased bothering her the moment she realized that she could tell exactly why, that she knew exactly what went through his head back then; the self-blame, the fault, the shame, the 'I screwed it all up and it's my cross to bear', the 'I don't want to drag anyone down with me', the 'I'm shutting everyone out and dealing with it myself'. She knew it all because it's exactly how she'd react too and that's where they are the same. She also thought that with the aftermath he probably decided to finally choose the right thing, to choose life and everything that had always waited for him to make time. When she realized all that, she finally felt like she could move on despite the constant pain that the hole in the shape of him created in her heart, despite being torn by the fact that with all their individual and mutual screw-ups over the years they were never alone, they never let each other be really alone.

But the cellphone…if the cellphone hadn't rung, if David hadn't rung, how far would have she let him go? She knows the answer and it makes her reach for the phone, to return another one of David's calls.

It took her a few days to shake off the remorse, the scorn, the self loathe she drowned in when she woke up at the crack of dawn to find David in her bed and realize she was hoping he'd be gone by then. She snuck out, went to take a shower and get ready for work in the crib, leaving him a note on the kitchen counter that asked him to drop the key in her mailbox. David was patient when she dodged meeting him, but then she got her act together.

She did, because after a few days of exerting her senses to discern them, she knew that the footsteps were gone. At first she dreaded them and what they made her feel, then she felt relieved because maybe he had finally listened to her, but when she noticed that she was still looking for them, almost as if she was missing them, as if she was missing _him_, she picked up the phone and called David back.

They're ok now, her and David. This is how it's supposed to be. In the last two weeks they've been talking almost every day, mostly 'how are you' brief conversations, meeting twice during the week for coffee or quick lunch or something, and they had two dates that ended up in her bed or his.

A normal life with a nice man, that's what she wants and that's what she has, and it all would be exactly that, if only she were nice and normal too.

"Have you ever considered transferring out of that unit? You've been there for quite long," David asks and not for the first time, when they meet for lunch. He's using different angles to it, but the question is the same. _"Are you sure you're ok? Maybe it gets to you more than it should." _That was another version. And there was also _"Maybe you should take a day off, a week off, hey, how 'bout a year or two?" _

"I have, but I'm not going to. Why?" She asks and her eyes escape to gaze through the window of the deli that David now calls 'our' when he asks to meet her at _'our deli'_. It's not far from the precinct and she comes here a lot, with her colleagues. She used to come here with Elliot.

"Just…I know we haven't known each other long, but I think that maybe you've had enough with that unit, maybe you want out, maybe you should."

"No, not really." Her impatience nearly surfaces. _Should_… He's nice and considerate and probably cares about her. _That unit._

He presses his lips together and his palms rise to signal stepping out of the boundary he realizes he's crossed. "So, there is this Bar Association gala and cocktail party soon that I'd be very happy if you joined me to. What do you think?" he changes the subject.

"Bar Association? Sounds…" She quirks an eyebrow.

"Boring? Formal? Snotty? All of the above probably, but you'll have your own lawyer with you to get you through it," David smiles, his hand rests on the table, palm up, as if he's waiting for her to put her hand in his.

"Sure," her chuckle is dry and her own palm is stiff when it comes to rest in his.

"Great," he grins and she can hear him joking about the DA's Office hot-shots that will decorate the party, but she loses herself again.

How anyone as nice and normal as David can understand what makes her stay at SVU for so long? She used to think it was her background, her biology, the violent act that had inflicted her on her mother and her need to do something to fix it for others, even within her own limited scope. But it's been years since she's understood that it's more than that. That the reason she cannot leave is because she is in the right place, not just for the victims. She feels at home. All of them, all of those who stay long in SVU, they all have this darkness inside of them, some incapacity that they funnel into doing good. But it's still there, inside of them, hidden crevices of doubt, concealed nooks of fear, screened corners of rage.

Dealing with the worst of crimes, clearing the streets of scum, fighting for the victims - it keeps them all sane and they each have their own way to cope with the darkness. Munch with his strange theories, Fin with his secretive love life which she suspects is secretive for a reason, Elliot with his efforts to deny it all and lead a normal life despite the rage that's kept trickling and erupting from him, and her with her devotion to loneliness and repression. It hasn't come out to the light yet, but she's pretty sure that the newbies have a darkness too, and if they don't, they won't stay long in _that unit_.

Without that unit, she suspects that Munch would have retired long ago and joined some weird-ass conspiracy theorists cult, Fin would have stayed in Narcotics and maybe cross to the other side, she'd probably become a cat lady, and Elliot…maybe now she sees what happens to Elliot without this job – he's debasing, probably cut out his wife completely by bearing his crosses alone, allowing his darkness to take over him.

And now he's reaching out to her.

Maybe he's trying to drag her along with him, because while their coping methods were different, at their base, him and her, they are alike. And maybe now, without the job and without his family, he's being drawn to the darkness he knows exists inside of her.

"So you'll have a good laugh there, I can guarantee you that," David sums up what she hasn't really listened to.

Olivia smiles back and her smile doesn't really reach her eyes, but he is a good man and she wants to give them a real chance.

"I look forward to going with you to the gala." She squeezes his hand.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

A week before the Bar Association event she hardly has any time to meet or even talk to David. She and Amaro, Fin and Rollins are working around the clock, chasing what they suspect is a serial rapist of young female tourists in hotel rooms, and this is in addition to their usual case load.

She is tired, she needs a shower, and it's been several days since she's spent more than three or four hours at home. Nick is taking a nap in the crib, Fin and Amanda have gone home to rest and except for a few uniform and detectives that come in and out she sits alone at her desk, drinking coffee, rubbing her eyes and giving herself a few quiet moments before she'll delve back into lab report comparisons. Nick has one more hour before they switch and she'll get her three hours of rest.

The Captain's office door opens and Cragen motions with his head in invitation as he speaks. "Olivia, can you step in for a minute?"

She nods her head and gets out of her seat, advancing towards him with a question on her face. The fact that he's holding the door open for her tells her that it's not a case he wants to discuss.

"What is it?" she asks as soon as she passes by him and enters the room, but Cragen closes the door first and walks to stand on his side of the desk before he speaks.

"I've heard some news about Elliot," he says.

Cragen's right hand rises to stop her from saying anything although she is too dumbfounded to speak. "I know, he's cut us all out, but I've heard through a friend and thought you might want to hear about it too."

"What is it?" she manages to ask again.

"He left home a few months ago and moved here, to Manhattan."

_There's gotta be more_, she thinks. "And?"

"And that's it, that's what I've heard. Thought you'd want to know. I know how close you two were."

"Thanks for telling me, I appreciate it." It comes out rigid but she has no idea what else to say and this news isn't completely new to her, though it verifies what she's suspected.

"He's divorced now, I think. That's what I heard, at least," Cragen says, as if trying to add more useful information for her sake.

She only presses her lips together and nods. "Thanks , Cap," she hints that she's done.

"Sure," Cragen nods and sits down, reaching for a paper on his desk, signaling her that the conversation is over as far as he's concerned too.

When she turns to walk out, he speaks without raising his eyes from the paper he's holding. "I can give you his new address."

Her back to him, she clenches her jaw. "No, thanks, that won't be necessary," she says and walks out.

_'One whose wife filed for a legal separation'_, Lorna Scarry's voice echoes in her head; that defense attorney who spilled Elliot's secret years ago. She remembers how her words were a punch to her gut, while now Cragen's voice and words are a murky cloud around her. She sits back at her desk, looking blindly and fumbling idly with the files and reports, repressing the sharp instinct that cuts through her, the automatic reaction that swirls in her body - the need to absorb Elliot's pain.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

It's one of those cases that despite the live victims, the DNA, the cooperation they get from other precincts and even other countries, despite it all they are going to lose because they can't find their perp. They chase him, they almost find him, but they lose him again and again. David is right, it gets to her. It gets to her so much that when she interrogates a twenty-year old that slept with his fifteen year-old girlfriend, she nearly loses it. It gets to her so much that she's snappy at everyone, that she spends hours and hours at work, that she feels like she has no one to talk to. David tries, he does, but it feels like he only uses it as leverage for what she suspects is his hidden agenda, to make her realize she needs to make a switch in her career.

She still shakes with anger, feeling like she needs to take a shower after listening to yet another victim of their perp, when she gets a text that looks almost surreal: "Hope your best dress is ready, it's gala time tomorrow night." She shuts the phone and shoves it back into her pocket. She'll refuse him later.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

The beer she cradles is too warm to taste good but she takes absent minded sips every few seconds.

"God, I needed that," Amanda drawls, echoing out loud what all three of them feel.

"Yeah, it's a good break," Fin mumbles.

They're quiet, staring at their own bottles or just gazing around the bar, too tired to move, too beat to go home.

"How do you guys…" Amanda starts and falters. "How do you guys go on with your lives when it gets like that?" she finally asks.

Fin and Olivia both look at her. "You just do," Fin speaks first. "Nick went home to his daughter, and we should all go home, it's been a long day."

"You just do, but it's not so easy," Olivia tries to give Amanda something to hold on to, to make her feel she's not alone in feeling like her life is on hold. "I…" she starts and with a shrug continues, "I was supposed to go to this fancy gala cocktail party tomorrow night, but I turned it down."

Fin's head shoots up and he looks her. "Liv…"

"What?" she asks, looking at him and noticing Amanda's questioning gaze from the corner of her eyes.

"You gotta live. You know what it's like, and you know we'll call you if there's anything new tomorrow night. Go."

A tired smile escapes her. "Fin, when was the last time you went to a gala? It's so boring and useless, and you need to be either in the mood for long speeches and small talk or in the mood for making fun of everyone behind their backs, and I'm in neither."

Amanda smiles and takes a swig off her beer and Fin puckers his lips and looks away tiredly. "You know what's best," he gives up. They're all too weary to really make a point. Before long they each go home to catch a few hours of sleep.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

"Reconsider?" David's text comes in at noon and she closes her eyes for a moment. She feels bad about letting him down like that, but she can't, she really can't. The gala, him, it's too much for her right now.

But the decision is made for her two hours later. "Olivia, Nick, you're out of here by five, I'm pulling a shift mode here, we're getting two detectives from Brooklyn SVU for support. Fin, Amanda, your turn's tomorrow." Cragen shoots orders in bundles.

"Cap," she tries to resist.

"No arguments, Detective. I can't afford this unit to waste away, we have other cases to handle." Don turns his back and closes the office door behind him.

Fin's eyes cross paths with hers and she bites her upper lip. Later on, in the bathroom, standing next to the sink after washing her face, she texts David. "Green light for best dress."

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

Dark purple satin that reaches just above her knees, abundance of material that wraps her bust area and creates a generous V-cleavage. The cocktail dress envelopes her body and with the expensive black suede high heels she should feel like she fits this event perfectly. Her hair falls on her shoulders in waves and she walks arm in arm with David as he introduces her to people and she shakes hands and smiles a lot.

There's nothing she wants more than to go home.

"I know what you think, and you're right, they're all idiots," David whispers into her ear when they break away from a little circle of people they've stood with for five minutes. "Come on, let's get another drink and more of that delicious finger food," he jokes as they look for the nearest waiter. "I hope you're not suffering," he says, looking at her.

"No, not really. I'm just not used to these things. The annual police ball that we get invited to looks nothing like this," Olivia smiles, taking the wine glass from David's hand.

"Yeah, it's fancy and I don't usually attend, but this is where you meet the right people."

"I didn't know you had political aspirations," she looks at him over her glass.

"Well, I don't like the politics of it, but there aren't many District Attorneys positions published in the Wanted section." David explains and she slowly nods, pursing her lips. "Few more idiots to meet and then there's going to be some dance music. Do you dance, Detective Benson?" David's eyes are warm on her.

"I haven't danced in a long time, I'm not sure I remember how to."

"It's like riding a bike," David says as he takes the empty glass from her hand and leads her to another group of people.

They dance and it's nice, it really is, but she can't get over checking her phone and looking for familiar faces, although both Alex and Casey told her they never attend these things. She hates to admit it but despite David she feels alone there. After a while her patience wears thin and David offers they go home.

They take a cab to her apartment and when she closes the door behind them and offers him a drink, she turns on her favorite music and leaves only a small light by the couch to help herself relax. Her heart rate is accelerated and her face is flushed, but as she busies herself with the wine she knows that it's nervousness, not excitement. She tries to remind herself that he's the man she dates, that she's already slept with him a few times, but the lump in her throat doesn't clear.

"Here," she hands him the drink. "Cheers," she clinks her glass to his and the grin on his face tells her that he's excited and not nervous, and that, in turn, makes her more nervous.

"Here's to…" David starts and hesitates for a moment. "Here's to us?"

_Oh, shit_, she thinks. "Here's to the right pace," she winks at him, because she wants to send him the right message without hurting his feelings; it might be a bit harsh, but he should have remembered that she doesn't believe in sublime romanticism.

"Point taken," David presses his lips together in a smile. "Here's to the _right thing_," he emphasizes as he clinks his glass with hers again, and she has to swallow the lump in her throat and hold herself from gulping the entire content of the glass at once.

His arms are around her, his hands slide over her nape and the dress's deep cleavage, his mouth on her neck and she hears his quickened breaths. She tightens her own arms around him and she kisses him back when he brings his mouth to her, but the more he wants of her, the less she can give, the less she wants of him. And he must feel it because David halts their kiss and looks at her quizzically, slightly panting.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his eyes looking straight into hers, and they're also blue.

"I'm sorry, I…I'm distracted." Her hands drop from around his neck.

"The case. Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"No, I…I'm so sorry, we had such a nice evening. Can we have a rain check?" She feels like a total bitch, but she needs to be alone.

"Is it because of what I said, about us?" he asks and she hates what she sees in his eyes, because he's done nothing wrong, it's all her, her and her fucked up inability to let go.

"No, no, David, it's not, it has nothing to do with that. I'm just tired and this case…" The half-truths pour out of her almost effortlessly.

"Ok, ok, this I can take. I know how this job can get to you." There is evident relief in his eyes.

"Thanks. Thanks so much for understanding. I really owe you one," she smiles, and she's relieved too, but she's not sure if from the right reasons. It feels so strange to have to use so many words for someone to understand, especially when he stands this close to her.

"I'll be sure to collect that debt," he winks at her sweetly and she forces on a smile.

She sees him to the door and gives him a quick kiss on his lips before the door closes behind him.

Olivia starts pouring herself a second glass of wine when there is a knock at the door and her heart drops for a moment. She places the bottle back on the counter and turns towards the door. She looks at it and with a deep, scrappy breath she opens it at once.

"I thought I'd start with collecting the interest first," David smiles at her and she puckers her lips in a tight smile and bites the inside of her lower lip, because it's cute, it is, but she doesn't do cute.

He leans in and she lets him kiss her gently on her lips. "Good night, David," she says with a smile, and with a slight push of her hand on his chest, she signals him that he should really be going.

"Good night, Liv," he says before she closes the door again, and that specific nickname coming from him, causes her hand to involuntarily rise and nervously thread through her hair, brushing it away from her face.

She drinks the wine and warmth spreads through her body, and she feels stupid in that dress after all, leaning against the kitchen counter on her high heels, listening to the quiet music and the clock ticking in the dimly lit space.

When the rap on the door repeats, she grits her teeth in frustration. This isn't even cute anymore, and she prepares a little polite speech that would explain that she really really needs some time alone and that it's really really not him, just her, and that she would make it up to him another time.

She flings the door open. "David, I…" she starts and her mouth hangs open mid-sentence before she closes it, trying to regain the breath she's just lost.

It feels like a fist that reaches in to clench her heart and punch her gut at the same time.

_Elliot._ It's been weeks. No, it's been months since Elliot faced her, since his eyes were at level with hers.

"Olivia," he says and before her eyes dart to the space behind his shoulders, she notices how his quickly slide down her body, taking in her purple satin clad form.

"He left, I passed by him on my way up," he says, guessing her thoughts and so bluntly behaves as if they're in this together.

"Elliot," her voice breaks with disbelief, with frustration. "What are you doing here? Why…? Do you know what time it is?"

A small, exasperated sigh escapes his lips and he turns his head away from her, and then brings his eyes back to her and their blue is dark. "It's not that late. Can I come in?"

"You followed me again?" her voice is a loud whisper.

Elliot draws his bottom lip into his mouth, biting it and she can practically see the anger crossing his features before it disappears. "No. And I didn't know I'd run into him."

"You know I date him but you didn't think you'd see him here?" Her brows quirk, her voice drips sarcasm.

"A minute later and I _wouldn't_ have seen him here," Elliot's gravelly voice, his eyes and the tilt of his head taunt her, challenge her. He knows.

"Have you heard of something that's called a phone?" she doesn't know what else to say, he behaves as if all those months never happened, as if he has never left, as if he has never reappeared all of a sudden, followed her, touched her. She just stands there, dimness behind her, scanty light in front of her, because Elliot's tall, massive body fills the entrance and not much light infiltrates in through the hallway.

"You'd screen me out," he answers and then "Liv," his voice drops and she can feel the lower rumble of it in her belly. "Let me in, I've been trying to talk to you."

"Tried talking to me? Is that what you call it?" she asks through a thick throat. She thinks about Cragen's words, and about pain, darkness, need, and something inside her wants to be able to resist this, resist him.

Even in the half-darkness she notices the shade of a smirk that crosses his lips. "Nothing happened that you didn't want to happen," he says and the son-of-a-bitch that he can be is in control over him.

"Is that what you came here to tell me?"

He's close enough that she can see his jaw muscle tightens before he speaks. "No. You want to have this conversation in the hallway?"

"It's not a conversation and I want you to leave." She hates how her voice gives her in, she hates how his smell makes her stomach drop and how she doesn't do a damn thing when Elliot takes another step and stops to stand so close to her. They are both practically past the threshold into her apartment.

"Why, Olivia? Don't you think we should talk sooner or later? It's been too long." When he speaks now she can feel the huff of his breath on her face, and despite the small gap between their bodies she can feel the coolness of his leather jacket versus the warmth of his chest where the jacket is open and only thin cotton holds his warmth in.

"That's not _my_ fault. And the reason David's not here is because I need to be alone right now. You can understand _that_, can't you?" She brings David up again because she wants to make a point, to prove him wrong. She has to.

"That's not why he's not here, Liv," Elliot juts his chin in her direction.

"Really? Then why isn't he here, Elliot? Let's hear it." She tilts her head to the side, meeting his challenge.

Elliot leans towards her and her eyes automatically drift shut. "You know why," he half whispers into her ear, the low vibration of his voice makes her body slightly sway. "But you're too proud and too stubborn to admit," he continues and the words hit her cheek as he pulls back a bit, his cheek in level with hers without touching her, but the fingers he lays on her left arm expel a breath out of her and send a shiver down her body.

Her eyes open and a dry chuckle escapes her, a single hoarse sound that makes Elliot pull himself back and face her again, his hand drops to his side. "You son of a bitch," she manages to say, anger coursing through her.

"I told you it wasn't something you'd want to discuss in the hallway," his smirk and the dark blue of his eyes make her knees weak and her palm twitches with yearn to slap his face.

"Just go, Elliot," she demands but it comes out too feeble.

"No. I don't want to go and _you_ don't want me to go," he says in his husky voice, the same voice that once told her 'look how great you turned out' and 'we're partners for better and for worse'.

And she has no warning before Elliot's mouth lands on hers, before his lips circle hers, before his tongue and his taste penetrate her mouth as she opens it to him. And just as before, everything dissipates for her and there's only him and only this, and this time it's even worse, because this time Elliot is facing her, and before she closes her eyes she sees the look on his face and the depth of his eyes, when he leans in to kiss her after thirteen years of everything and nothing.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

The body does its own learning.

Her fingers remember, her eyes recognize, her palms discover and her mouth memorizes.

Elliot's hands cup her face, hold her in place as their mouths meld together in a forceful kiss, in an urgency that too many years have created. Her own hands rise up and land between them on the hard muscles of his stomach and they slide up the shirt to his chest, and maybe she's trying to push him but Elliot steps forwards and his hands slide down her neck and shoulders as he pulls her into his body and his hand leaves her for a moment to close the door behind them.

Over the quiet music that still plays in the background she hears his hard breaths and she tastes his mouth, her hands on his chest are not resisting, they're stroking and feeling.

Elliot turns them and her back hits the closed door, his strong body pinning her to it as he leans his weight into her. Her head lolls to rest against the hard surace and Elliot deepens the kiss even more, their lips bruise each other as his tongue meets hers again and again and she can taste the wine she drank in his mouth. His right hand runs over her clavicle and slowly slides to her breast. His large palm cups and rubs it up and down over the silky smooth material that covers her, and her nipple under it is so hard that it's a painful pleasure.

The buzz in her head becomes as liquid as the heat between her legs, and when Elliot's left hand slides down the side of her body and back to her ass and he pins her pelvis to his and she can feel his erection pressing into her, she moans into his mouth. Their breaths are ragged and their touches are rough and the more he demands of her the more she wants to give and take from him. Her fingers splay on his neck and face and she feels his muscles work as he devours her and she needs more, to touch him more. She reaches her hands and tugs at the lapels of his jacket and Elliot lets her slide it off his shoulders. She pulls the hem of his shirt and slides her hands under it, between their bodies, and his skin is warm and he's all hard muscle under her eager palms. Elliot brings both his hands to her breasts and kneads them through the dress before his palms skim down her waist and onto her backside, pressing her hard into him. He groans into her mouth and thrusts his hips, pushing his hard-on further against her, and she still needs more.

He slides his mouth along her cheek to her ear and down her neck, his hands come up to push the straps of her dress and bra off her shoulders, and he tastes every inch of the skin he exposes. Olivia hears herself panting and opens her eyes as her hands continue inside his shirt, feeling the wide plains of Elliot's chest, sliding over the bulk of his muscled shoulders, her lips and tongue press into his neck. She breathes him in and it's familiar, she tastes his warm skin and it's new, and the mixture of familiar Elliot and new Elliot makes her stomach clench with fear and desire.

The want in her is so rooted that she bucks into him, looking for more contact, and Elliot moves his leg between hers and she can't hold herself from grinding on his hard thigh. He kisses her exposed chestbone, his mouth trails the valley between her breasts and he sucks in and slightly bites the soft mounds of her breasts that the deep cleavage and the fallen straps have bared.

She hears muffled moans and realizes that it's her own voice, and the need increases in the pit of her stomach and Elliot must feel it because he brings his mouth up to hers again, drinking in her moans while his hands slide along her body and grasp the hem of her dress and ride it up her thighs. The cool satin and his warm palms that graze up her heated skin make her hands come out of his shirt and palm his face and scrape his short hair, pressing his mouth further to her swollen, bruised lips.

The dress has ridden high enough for Elliot to smooth his hands across her flesh, over to her ass, his fingers dig into her soft skin and the silky material of her panties, as his tongue slides in and out of her mouth. He doesn't waste time as he slides one hand and grabs behind her thigh and lifts her leg to wrap around his hip and his hard cock makes contact with her core through her panties and his jeans. They both gasp and Elliot's fingers press so hard into her thigh that he'll leave marks, but she doesn't care because he thrusts forward and through their clothes she feels his hard length hitting her silk covered wetness again and again and again and all she can think of is _'more'_.

Elliot releases her thigh but his bodyweight presses her to the door and her leg remains wrapped around him. He brings his hand to her chest and with the pressure of his wrist he drags down the rim of the dress and the cup of her bra and before she knows it, her naked breast is in his rough palm and he's kneading it and rolling her pebbled nipple with the motion. When they break the kiss to breathe, Elliot pulls his head back and he's looking at her and her eyes drown in his widened irises. They're both heaving. With their eyes locked together Elliot draws his hand down her breast and then up again and he watches as her eyes flutter shut with the pleasure and open again to focus on his. He repeats it and she looks at him through hazy eyes and he grinds his hips into her. When a quiet whimper escapes her lips, his mouth comes crashing down on hers.

He kisses his way under her chin and when she arches her head back, his tongue lingers at the dent of her throat. Her arms that were wrapped around his neck drop limply to her sides as Elliot licks down her skin and his palm that cups the underside of her breast pushes the velvet flesh up into his hot, open mouth that takes in the hard nipple and the softness around it. She can feel the surge of wetness that floods her core as Elliot sucks in her breast and his tongue swivels her sensitive nipple. If he wasn't pushing her to the door she wouldn't be able to hold up, and as if Elliot knows, she suddenly feels his other hand reaching down to hers which is still limp by her side and he intertwines his fingers with hers as he suckles on her breast again and again. He brings their entwined hands up and pins them against the door, in level with her head, and licks his way up to her mouth and kisses her short, teasing kisses, sucking in her upper lip and then her bottom lip. She runs her tongue over his, and she's so aroused that her knees buckle under her and Elliot releases her breast and his hand grabs under her thigh that's slipped from his hip.

In this posture their lower halves are pressed hard together again and they grind against each other, and her fingers clutch his in a spasm because she could come just from this. He's on her and in her and all around her, and when his hand guides hers to drop on his shoulder and he skims his now free hand down the front of her body, she knows where he's aiming despite the haze she's in, and she wants it and she's afraid of it at the same time.

Elliot's fingers flicker between their bodies, over the skin and muscle of her lower belly but he doesn't stop there. As he moves his mouth to the nook under her ear, he brushes his fingers over the silk of her panties and slides them inside. They skim over her pubic hair and she gasps when he touches the upper part of her core.

"Liv," he breathes into her ear and the nickname he invented for her years ago is the first word that is uttered, and she brings both her arms to tighten around his neck as his fingers glide further along the slickness of her folds, soaking in the wetness they both know he caused.

A quiet "Unghhh," is the only thing she can say when Elliot rubs his fingers over her, his mouth wets the soft spot under her ear as he kisses and breathes her in. To the motions of his fingers he adds rhythmic thrusts of his hips, and when he slips a finger inside her, she moans loudly. He thrusts faster and harder and slides another finger into her and his fingers penetrate her again and again and he's panting in her ear, and all she wants is to lie down and have all of him on top of her and inside of her, because it feels as if Elliot is fucking her but he's not, not really, and she wants him to.

"Elliot," his name starts rolling off her lips and it comes out as a mumble that increases with each thrust and each stroke of his palm on her core and with each push of his fingers in and out of her. When her walls start contracting around his fingers, Elliot puts his mouth on hers but he doesn't kiss her, he just lets her mouth whisper his name into his and only when she completely shutters around and against him, he slips his tongue into her and sucks in her lips and her moans.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

Her fingers recognize, her eyes remember, her palms memorize and her mouth discovers. Thirteen years after she first met him, almost the same number of years since he became everything and nothing to her, less than a year since he left and a few weeks after he reappeared and touched her, Olivia's head drops on Elliot's shoulder as his arms envelope her and his mouth kisses her hair.

She stands with her back to the door, her dress half way down her thighs, her breath slowing down, and it's Elliot's arms around her, his wet breath in her hair and the hardness she can still feel against her that remind her what she'd rather forget – that despite the elapsed time, Elliot can still read her and his body still knows to adjust to hers, whether it's to her stride, or to her lust.

His smell fills her and she can smell herself on him, and she forces her eyes to open and her head to lift from his shoulder and lean against the door. They're looking at each other through heavy lids, their breaths still rapid, their bodies still pressed together, his arms still around her.

"You done marking the territory?" she scoffs through a hoarse voice, veiled eyes and a jutted chin.

He doesn't flinch, he never does, but she recognizes the tilt of his head and the smirk that spreads on his face; that's how he reacted when Sonya slapped him and that's how he reacts now. His eyes are almost as dark as his black shirt and they pierce her but she doesn't flinch either.

"All done," he says, his voice gravelly, his smirk mocking, and he's pressing his hardness against her just a bit more before his arms release her and drop to his sides.

"Good, now you can get the fuck out of here," she spits. Her head and her gaze turn away from him for a second and then she looks at him as he takes a step back and opens a gap between them, between their bodies, and the sheen of sweat at her hairline and her upper lip and between her breasts suddenly chills her.

"Suit yourself." Behind the smirk there's betrayal in his eyes, she can see it, but fuck it, she knows he's here to mark a territory that's not his anymore, that never was, although at some point in their partnership she allowed him to act as if it were. His jealousy, her acquiescence, it was another knot in their dark entanglement.

Elliot takes another step back and it takes her time to move away from the door, but then she disconnects her back from the hard surface and the silence around them is thick. The music died, so the quiet rustle of the dress as she takes a few steps, her breaths and Elliot's, is all that she can hear. He watches her and she loses the bitter confidence.

"I thought it was _good_ that he's making me happy," she accuses because his silence and his stare make her speak again. She's using his question and her answer and his reaction from the first night he showed up behind her, from the first night his footsteps materialized into him.

Elliot doesn't answer and she looks at him for a moment before she bypasses him and waits with her back to him to hear the door clicking shut. She hears him taking a step, but instead of hearing the door open and close, she hears his breath in her ear and feels his hands on her shoulders. Her back connects with his chest and her eyes flicker shut.

"Good luck pretending, Liv. I'm done here." His lips and his voice vibrate in her ear, and she's not sure if he's done pretending or if he's done with her for good or if he's done marking her as his, but the clearing fog in her mind, the painful beat of her heart and the memories now engrained in her body, tell her that he's done it all.

She doesn't mean to, but she finds that she leans against him, against the hard expanse of Elliot's chest, and when he leaves, she is without support, her body slightly rocking on her feet.

The door opens and closes and she stands there for another moment before she walks over to the couch and sits on its edge, her elbows on her thighs, her fingers massage her forehead, and her heart, surprisingly, is still beating.

She feels the fluids absorbing in the delicate fabric of her panties, her body is still sensitive from his touch, from this raw, domineering sonofabitch version of Elliot. He's always had it in him, but now it has taken over him and something inside her is allowing him to take over her too, something inside of her is drawn to this, to him, to his need. It's the magnet of her darkness and his that does this, that makes him touch her and makes her succumb to it each time, that proves him right and her wrong.

It shouldn't be like this, she has something good going with David and she wants to blame someone, but she can't, because she can't deny that even before Elliot appeared she knew that David wasn't enough, that _nothing_ was enough.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

The hot spray of the shower washes his smell and his touch and his taste from her body, it washes the wetness he's soaked his fingers in, it washes almost everything, but it can't wash away what her body discovered, recognized, remembered and memorized.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I know I promised to post sooner but I'm travelling internationally and was so busy and distracted that I forgot. Thanks to all of you who leave wonderful reviews, it really warms my heart to read them! Thanks to those who reminded me that I promised to upload this chp ;)

Here goes - this is the last installment of this fic. Enjoy :-D Love ya!

**Chapter 5:**

She has to break up with David. In all honesty and fairness she knows she has to, but she puts up a fight against herself. Her only other boyfriend in the last decade vaporized from her head and heart the minute Elliot found out about him and told her he was happy for her. She had a reason to keep Kurt a secret. He was also nice and she really wanted him to fit, but seeing Kurt through Elliot's eyes illuminated for her what she'd tried to mask for months, that as hard as she might try, Kurt would never be it. Never.

Now she sits in front of David, in the 'our' deli, and her body prickles because looking at him reminds her of how Elliot looked at her, how he touched her, how he marked her. Looking at David reminds her that he's not it and never will be, she can't mask it, she can't shake it off, and David's already started evaporating the moment Elliot showed up. She doesn't want to pretend, she just wants to fight it. If she doesn't, it'll be admitting things that she doesn't want to admit. It'll be admitting that Elliot was right and she was wrong, admitting things and parts inside of her that she's always tried to repress, admitting that she's lost years. It'd be admitting again what Elliot is, although he shouldn't be.

How can he be? He was never hers, not even in the years she mislead herself to believe he somehow was. He hasn't lost years, he made it through with Kathy, and she knows her, the woman has not one sarcastic bone in her body. Kathy gave and shared light with him, while she herself shared only the darkness and he had enough of that, he didn't need it, and soon enough he'll get his act together and she'll remain with his marks on her. She can take it, she can, but she needs to be with someone who sees in her what Elliot, and even she, can't see. Light.

So she smiles at David and she tries hard, although she has betrayed him. Letting Elliot touch her like that is betrayal. He didn't even have to touch her, what she felt when she saw him, what she feels now, is enough to be considered as cheating anyway. But she's good at repressing and David is patient and he's really interested, and unlike her months with Kurt, this time she wouldn't have to see Elliot everyday like she did when he was still her partner and a part of her.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

Her success doesn't last long. Because repression isn't enough, because she can't fake it, because David continues to evaporate, because a few weeks later she fractures Joshua Mead's ribs.

They catch him, but not before he snaps the neck of a young undercover cop they put as bait in a hotel room. Joshua was smart enough to figure them out immediately and snapped Sharon Bellows' neck so fast that the unit hiding in the bathroom didn't have time to stop him. It was her interrogation and when Huang, who was called in, said that he'd react better to only her because she was a woman, she gladly entered the room alone with him. It was as if she was waiting for the opportunity, but she didn't plan on any of it. She was trying to get the details of all his victims out of him and he mocked and made fun of her, of Sharon, of all of them, and the next thing she knew she was beating the crap out of him while he was cuffed. She had managed to break his nose and fracture his ribs before Nick and Cragen got hold of her.

Her Captain suspends her, IAB are on her, her colleagues back her up, and David doesn't hide his criticism. It could have been ok if only he wouldn't make her feel like she's naturally brutal, untamed, incompetent.

"It goes beyond excessive force, Liv," he can't seem to hold the words back when he arrives to her apartment two whole days after her suspension and she feels like screaming at him to stop using that nickname. "I told you, you needed a break, you said you were fine, I didn't expect _that_ of all things, to lash out at a cuffed man like that."

"It's not even your case," she spits, "and you don't get to 'I told you so' anything."

"Good to know that this is where we stand," he says and the look in his eyes tells her everything that his lips don't.

"I know what I did was wrong, I'm the first one to admit this, and believe me, I'm getting enough shit over this, but I thought I'd get some support and understanding from people I thought cared about me."

"I care about you, but I saw the guy's pictures, Liv, and I'm not sure I even know you." His voice rises.

"You know what?" her voice pitches high in response. "You don't. You don't know me. Thanks for everything, it's been a pleasure."

When David walks out the only thing that pains her is to admit that she's failed again, that she can't maintain a normal relationship with a nice man, that it's not enough for her and that she can't be what she's not.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

Tucker is very happy to see her, he doesn't even try to hide it. "I knew I'd have the pleasure sooner or later," he rasps his voice at her. He tries to bring her down and Elliot's name comes up too many times in her interrogation. With the state of her jacket, IAB has enough on her to move her to Warrants or to a permanent desk duty in some back-office department, but her Captain once again puts his neck on the line for her and she gets a written warning, a one month vacation time deduction and two weeks of unpaid leave in addition to what she's already had.

When she arrives home from her last rendez-vous at IAB, she sleeps for eight hours straight. After a shower and a coffee she checks the database from her laptop. In less than two minutes Elliot's new address is staring at her through the computer screen.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

It's a quiet street, not far from the last Manhattan apartment he had, six years ago. Parking isn't that hard to find here and she checks again the note the address is scribbled on. His building is the one she's almost across the street from. Olivia doesn't falter when she crosses to the other side in the lamp-lit street. There are lights peeping out through curtained windows and she hears people talking and laughing, dogs barking. She hears families.

It's a four-storey building and the corridor on the second floor smells of dinners cooking.

2B.

She stops a few steps away from the door and suddenly she hopes he's not home. It's time to put a stop to all that avoidance and pretense, but she's afraid. They're not what they used to be for each other, and she's never really known what exactly it was that they were, but now…now she has no idea, now she doesn't really know him, now she doesn't know what to expect, now she knows what Elliot's body and mouth and touch feel like.

Before she really regrets it, she raps on the door and her teeth grit as she waits. She's debating if to knock again or leave, when the door is flung open and Elliot's wide form fills the frame. In jeans and a faded blue, short sleeved t-shirt and a bit of stubble on his face, he stands there, and everything about him is familiar to her, and everything's so strange.

Nothing in his features gives it in, but she can tell that he's surprised. She wants to say 'Hi' but suddenly the memory of the last time she's seen him overcomes her and all she manages to do is bite the inner side of her bottom lip and gaze at him, hoping to God that the same visuals don't cross his mind too.

"Now _you're _following me?" he asks sternly as he opens the door all the way and leans his right elbow against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

"Wasn't hard to get your address," she finally says and her eyes can't be denied of taking the sight of him in, the corded bicep that flexes as he leans against the door, the tattoo on the muscled forearm, the width of his shoulders and chest, the new lines on his face and the blue depth of his eyes.

Elliot eyes her, purses his lips, nods once and turns to enter the apartment, leaving the door open for her to follow. She lingers for a short while because his response made her lose her ground. She was prepared for a sendoff, a biting comment, a reminder to what position he had her in the last time she saw him, a victory over her lost battle. But instead, he reacted like…like Elliot, the one she used to know, the one who knew when she needed to fight him and when she needed to stop. So she lingers for a moment before she steps in and closes the door behind her.

Toys. They are scattered around in the small living room and that's the first thing she notices and a strange fist clenches her stomach from within. Elliot lives in an apartment that has Eli's toys in it. Her eyes take in a Power-Rangers plastic cup and plate with pizza crust leftovers on the coffee-table and her heart sinks. Elliot took a place in a neighborhood that would fit his kid. And it's as if the realization that this is still Elliot, the Elliot she's always known, starts kicking in. This and the smell; she closes her eyes for a brief second because she's surrounded by walls and objects that are all imprinted with Elliot's scent.

"Sorry for the mess," his voice startles her from behind. "Eli was here, Kathy picked him up twenty minutes ago." Elliot's apologetic tone and the mundane details make her turn towards him in surprise.

"It's fine, it's a nice apartment," she mumbles, and it is, smaller than hers but fine, and she sneers at herself because she was expecting to see him living in some dingy dump. But he's not, because he's still Elliot, despite everything, and that scares her even more because it's easier to stomach a semi-stranger Elliot as the one who made her body swelter and succumb, moan and come.

"Wanna drink?" he asks as he walks towards the adjoined kitchen. He's barefoot and the leg hems of his jeans sweep the floor as he walks.

"Something cold," she says, still standing in the middle of the small living room, amongst Eli's toy cars and super-heroes and robots. She follows Elliot to the small kitchen and her eyes hang on his solid back and the muscles of his shoulders that roll under the fabric of his shirt as he reaches into the fridge and takes out two beer cans.

"Thanks." She takes the can his outstretched hand offers her. "El," she starts and the second it comes out of her mouth she realizes that she hasn't used his nickname in so long, because he didn't feel like El to her in all this time.

He leans against the kitchen counter and takes a swig off his beer, looking at her as she stands near the narrow oblong kitchen table, waiting for her to continue.

"I…" she starts again and hesitates, because she's not sure what to say, she hasn't really phrased even to herself why she's there, what she came over to tell him, to ask of him. She just had to see him, confront it all, and now she has no words.

"I'm not stalking you anymore," Elliot interjects with a sarcastic tone.

"I know. I know, that's not what…" she fails again, but then she hangs on to it. "Why did you, in the first place?" It's a question that bugs her, and there are so many more, so it's a good place to start as any.

His jaw muscles tense before he speaks. "I didn't mean to follow you," Elliot starts and places his can on the counter, next to him, looking at it, then bringing his eyes to hers. "About two months after I left, I was at 1PP, signing some last papers and when I came out, I saw you." He pauses before he continues. "You didn't see me and I didn't follow you, but after that I sometimes had to make sure you were ok."

"How did you know?" She hates how her voice sounds cracked, fragmented.

"Scanner. I still have one," he says and his eyes are trained on her, a shade of a smile crosses his face and disappears almost before she notices it.

She sighs and despite herself the sigh escapes through a faint smile of disbelief. "You did that often?"

"No. Maybe three or four times in total." His chin juts towards her as he adds "including that time in the alley," and she realizes that most of it was the figment of her imagination, and she's not sure what scares her more, that she's heard his footsteps more times than they actually were behind her or that she wanted to hear them. "Your new partner seems like a decent guy," Elliot concludes after a moment with a single nod of his head.

"And how did you know about David?" she asks as he takes up his can and sips again.

"I ran into Casey outside Family Court," he says and his hand with the can gestures automatically towards the living room, at the scattered toys.

"She never told me she saw you. In Manhattan?"

"Yeah, I already moved here, so…" he shrugs and her fingers tighten around the wet cold tin in her hand.

"And?"

"And she told me you're dating this ADA."

"Executive ADA," she corrects stiffly. "And?" Her lips linger on the can, waiting for his answer.

"And I had to see the guy for myself." Elliot places his forearm against the white fridge that has one painting magneted to it, of what seems to be a house and a child in red and yellow crayons, and his gaze drops to the floor for a moment. Her eyes use the brief opportunity to skim his face and torso before he brings his eyes back to hers.

"That's fucked up, Elliot," she says after the short pause in which she takes a sip off her beer, her eyes piercing him.

There's another ticking pause before the quiet gravel of his voice cuts the air. "Probably. What are you doing here, Olivia?" He straightens up without removing his eyes from hers.

She stands there quietly, and only the way she shifts her weight from one leg to another gives in that his question has rattled her. Elliot takes a swig off his can, places it back on the counter and takes a step towards her.

"Why did you approach me that night?" she asks almost urgently, because she has to fill the silence, because she doesn't know how to answer his question, because he's taken another step and she feels crowded. The recollection of his touch washes over her and she fights to keep her eyes open as they threaten to drown and drift shut at the memory of the sensation. She feels so bare when he looks at her like that, knowing what he knows about how he can make her feel, how easy it is for him to make her yield and respond, crave and react.

"Because I know you, Liv, and I could see the effort from a mile away." The rasp in his voice, the confidence in his tone, the towering of Elliot's body close to hers, dares her to deny.

"Really?" she mocks, taking on his dare. "You could tell that from a mile away so you decided to make sure from up close?"

"He was never really there whenever I approached you, was he? I know my math, Liv." The smirk that now appears on his face reminds her that he's still a sonofabitch and she hates that he can still put two and two together about her love life. He always could, maybe because he's always known.

"It doesn't mean anything, he was there on many other occasions." Her voice comes out too throaty and she hates that she can't really lie to him.

"So why _are_ you here, Olivia?" he repeats and she feels like he's encroaching on her although he still stands a few steps away from her, but he's close enough for her to see in the kitchen's fluorescent light the lines around his eyes when he narrows them, the scar on his chin, the pulsing vein in his neck.

"_You_ still haven't told me why," she spits, knowing he understands what she asks - why he touched her, why he aired everything that was silently kept locked between them. "But I don't think I wanna know," she adds in a voice that's still throaty, rough, edgy, and she's lying, she's afraid to know, and maybe she already does. _'I can't not do it'_, he told her and he never lies, and now she's trapped, because now she can't either.

Elliot remains quiet and watches her fight. "I got suspended. Did you hear _that_ on your scanner?" she changes the subject, trying to resist his proximity, his silence, her lies.

"What happened?" Elliot's eyes are no longer narrow, they're softer and bluer.

"I pulled an Elliot on a perp." A small, lop-sided grin appears and disappears on her face.

"The hotels rapist? I'm sure the prick deserved it." Elliot's voice and eyes and smile are soft and she's missed it, the acceptance, the support, the trust, their connection. And it doesn't surprise her that he knows about her case, whether through the media or through his goddamn scanner, and it dawns on her that maybe him knowing has something to do with the fact that he showed up on her doorstep on the gala night, in one of the hardest weeks she's had, when they kept losing the bastard, when she had no one.

"He did, but you know that's not the point," she says confidently, because she knows he understands.

"So you came here to find sympathy? Couldn't get it at home?" His words and tone and the tilt of his head make her lose her footing and stumble again. It's like they keep verbally slapping each other when the other least expects it.

"You're a sonofabitch, you know that?"

"Maybe, but I also know that you have no one to talk to about all this, not even Fin or your new partner, and definitely not that ADA. _Executive_ ADA," he corrects himself.

"You know _nothing_, Elliot." She's pissed now because he makes her feel safe and then pulls the rug from under her feet and uses it against her.

"I think I do." He takes two steps in her direction in the small space.

"El, you left. You know nothing about me." Olivia takes a step back and her tailbone meets the hard edge of the pinewood table behind her.

"That's not true," he rasps quietly with a single shake of his head and he doesn't have to add _'and you know it'_ because they both know she does.

Elliot stops close to her, his eyes locked on hers and she can't divert her gaze. His eyes are darker blue now and he is standing so close that the smell of his cologne and the detergent of his clothes course through her. She arches her back to create some distance between them.

"I know how it is, Olivia," the low rasp of his voice vibrates in her stomach, "you can't talk to him about what really matters. You don't talk to anyone about it anymore." When she doesn't answer, he continues. "I'm the same, Liv," and she's not sure if he too doesn't have anyone to talk to or if he's the same man that left her months ago, or both.

"We broke up," she says and her voice is dry, cracked. It's not what she was going to say, not when she's just been proven how easy it is for him to use the exposed nerves she has for him, that's been exposed for who knows how long.

"I know." His breath hits her face when he speaks. She doesn't even have to ask how come he knows. He knows like he always has.

Elliot reaches his hand and takes the beer can from her and places it on the table behind her, arching his body forward and his chest touches hers and she can feel his warmth on her skin even through their shirts before he straightens up again. She swallows the heartbeats that pound in her throat.

His hand rises to touch her.

"What happened with Kathy, El?" she asks, looking at him, and Elliot's hand drops to his side and his massive body slightly jerks back and suddenly she can breathe, though it's labored, because she notices that she's used these same words several times already in the past. She's been through this murk already, him leaving and hurting and declining and looking for her and then going back. She still bears the marks from last time.

"Same thing that happened to you with David," Elliot says in furrowed brows as he takes a step back, and it's the first time he uses David's name and not some dismissive reference. And despite the profound difference between her short-lasted relationship and his life-long marriage, she understands it all, just from his tone, from his choice of words: she can count the silences, hear the lies, see his darkness ultimately settled in his wife's eyes and reflected back at him, peel the layers of pain at the final failure to atone for everything through his family.

Elliot's eyes move between hers and she hopes he can read it all in them because she can't bring herself to speak. There's no point in lying, in denying, in repressing, and he's close enough for her to smell the beer in his warm breath. She can almost taste it.

"Olivia," his voice is gravelly and it makes her heart drop along with his hand that touches her and slides down her arm as he steps closer once more.

"It's all changed," she half whispers in a hoarse voice, because she can't help the need to rebel, to resist, to crawl into him.

"Not us," he responds and the words are uttered against her lips as Elliot draws her to him with one swift pull of his palm on the small of her back, and her body is flush against his, and she opens her mouth to his, allowing him in, tasting and devouring him back.

And she shouldn't be doing this, because she knows better, but she lets him answer all her questions and soothe all her concerns with his lips and tongue, she lets him reassure and ease and hush the darkness, the turmoil and the fears inside of her with his body. She doesn't resist when his mouth demands hers, she doesn't rebel when every inch of him is pushed against her, she doesn't question when he walks her back the dozen steps it takes to get from his kitchen to his bed, she doesn't fight it when the back of her knees hit the mattress and she falls on her back and he lies on top of her with all his weight. She doesn't stop him when he undresses her and pushes her bare legs apart with his hips. She doesn't do any of it because she can't and because she feels Elliot's heart thumping in his chest under her palm, and because she wants to feel his skin all over hers; she doesn't heed to her usual restrains because she needs to feel him all over her and inside of her and she wants it just as much as he does, and because she's done fighting it.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

When her naked body tangles with his, when her lips pronounce his name out loud in the darkened bedroom, when Elliot fills her entirely and when he empties himself inside of her, Olivia knows that it's not only the darkness within her that he was drawn to, not her darkness only that he could see and understand, and it's not his darkness only that he needed her to absorb because she's the only one who could - it was the light in her that he wanted, the light in him that he needed her to reflect; it was what they could always see in each other that he came to her to look for.

When Elliot whispers her name in her ear and his hands and mouth slide and linger all over her naked body, when she touches and tastes every ridge and plain of him, and when he penetrates her again and his eyes lock with hers - his footsteps that have haunted her for months and everything that she has ever known about him and about herself, intermingle with all the new things she still has to learn, memorize, remember and recognize.

**Finis**


End file.
